


Herald of a New Dawn

by Camelittle



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet, Gen, Lichen, Magic, Post 5.13, Sacred Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's magic lingers in the land, even in the bare stones, waiting for Arthur's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Herald of a New Dawn

The gargoyle was hewn from pale golden stone, ugly yet strangely beautiful in its stark asymmetry. Misshapen, lichen-encrusted fangs jutted through doleful, pouting lips. In wet weather, rain cascaded forth from its staring, protruding eyes like mournful tear-drops. It presided, unnoticed, over the distant din and hubbub of the citadel, over banquets and funerals, harvests and plagues, feasts and famines. Its unblinking, watchful eyes were undimmed by the battle that toppled it to the floor where it lay, silent, unnoticed for centuries, choked by encroaching ivy. Beetles made their home in its cavities. 

An enterprising lad found it, and freeing it from the other decaying stones, fixed it to the roof of his houseboat “to ward off evil spirits.” His old dog curled up on top of it, blinking sleepily in the sunlight, moist canine nostrils flaring.

It was ancient, far older than he knew.

In the distant past a grieving warlock, had, in the depths of his anguish, wrenched a boulder from a lonely cliff face. Obliterating shells, the ghosts of long-dead sea-creatures, from the block that remained, he fashioned the gargoyles. With his fingers, he imbued them with grief and magic, commanding them to be vigilant, to cast their eyes across the kingdom, and when the King returned, when Albion’s need was upon them, to proclaim it to the world.

The once-dead shells thrilled to the hum of the magic trapped in their frozen calcite interstices. But the Saxons came, and the Angles, and the warlock fled with all his kin. Vikings came, then Danes, Scots and Normans. War, pestilence and the desecration of the sacred spaces hurt the warlock, diminished him until, sorrowing, he hid himself from the land, taking the shape of a gnarled oak tree, and fell into a deep slumber.

The gargoyle maintained its silent vigil, a forgotten remnant of once-powerful magic. Until, one spring day, it was roused.

“Awake!” it cried, voice rasping. “The King is returned! Albion’s need is upon us! Awake! Awake!”

The dog on the houseboat opened a sleepy eye and yawned, pink tongue protruding. In the distance the church bells clanged. Throughout the land people were startled awake as the ground trembled.

The oak tree’s boughs shivered, and a solitary pale-green leaf pushed forth into the spring sunshine. In a small cottage nearby, a new born baby’s cries were drowned by the anguished sobs of its father, grieving his wife, taken from him at the moment of birth. Far away, under the ice on the other side of the world, a translucent egg began to glow through its shell.

The boy on the houseboat knelt next to his dog, rubbing its ears lovingly, and frowned, staring at the gargoyle.

Limestone eyelids now covered its goitre eyes, which once had stared forth, weeping raindrops.

Its work was over, and now it slept.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an unusual canal-boat decoration.


End file.
